Outside, Inside

Abstract

Outside, Inside Brian Clifton (bio) On my brain the sound of our neighbors' childrenyelling for their mother to watch. I said things like, In timewhat you feed will love you.My tumor fed while John's body limpedaway from mine only aftera moment of its unbearable weight. * In the dark, the words brave and, sometimes,grave. I watched him drag his body across the rug— to see staticencase him. As if highlighted,those words bloomed * in my brain as it replayed the day's conversations. The property manager said things like, Do not slip money under our door and Give it to medirectly. Such a grave mistake, I thought. My tumor a grave within my brain. Now, you're being dramatic. Like a child, * he said and closed the door.Outside, our neighbors' dogs rushed back to their porch where they pretended nothing had happened [End Page 1] between us. I swallowed a pill and then another; I waited for them to rattle around inside me. For weeks,as I waited, I imaginedmy doctor roaming * through my skull. John was still when I askedif we should crawl out the window and down the block. And his stillness pulled me back to bed,though it wasn't ours. Our mouths riffed on what made us feel as though we needed to be in two places at once. * On my brain: stars, bruises,John's hand deep inside a wall. The small twitches in his forearm caused his fingers to pull at the right wires. I measured the distance between silland bedframe in body parts—palm, thigh. I turned from the window, my body on fire. [End Page 2] Brian Clifton Brian Clifton co-edits Bear Review. He is a PhD. candidate at the University of North Texas. His work can be found in Pleiades, Guernica, Cincinnati Review, Salt Hill, Prairie Schooner, The Journal, Beloit Poetry Journal, and other magazines. He is an avid record collector and curator of curiosities. Copyright © 2019 Pleiades and Pleiades Press